The birth was difficult. I lost a lot of blood and felt like I wouldn’t make it to morning. But when I heard my baby’s first cry, I knew it was all worth it. It was a little boy — small, fragile, with skin soft and warm like freshly baked bread.
I was discharged after two days, and Jerry was, as always, extremely attentive. He brought me warm soups, flowers, and filled my room with blue balloons. He seemed ecstatic. And I… I didn’t know what to think anymore.
But this time, I was no longer naive.
Before giving birth, I set up a hidden camera in the baby’s room. I didn’t tell Jerry anything. He didn’t even know that the crib was hiding a microphone and that the birds in the painting on the wall were watching everything.
That night, Jerry sneaked out of bed again, just like every time. I stayed awake, in silence, with my heart pounding in my chest like a hammer on iron.
I got up, took my phone, and connected to the camera app.
What I saw froze my blood.
Jerry was standing in front of the crib, with a cold gaze, devoid of any love. He picked up the baby, held him for a few seconds, then walked towards the door. On his back, his shirt was stained with blood. Fresh.
I ran out of the house with my phone in hand and went straight to the police.
When they raided the basement, they found what no human soul should ever see. Refrigerators. Boxes. Corpses. Remains. I couldn’t look.
Jerry was not sick. He was a monster.
He had been raised in an isolated village in the north of the country, where — I would later find out — a forbidden legend about “pure meat” circulated. A cult that believed the soul is transmitted through blood and that babies are the ultimate offerings for eternal life.
The entire village had been evacuated years ago, but Jerry… had survived.
He was arrested, but no lawyer wanted to defend him. When I appeared in court with the video recording, the whole room fell silent. Not even he said anything. He just looked at me, calmly, as if I were the one who had betrayed.
Today, my child is safe. We live in a protected place, under a different name. I still have nightmares and still cry in my sleep.
But I have learned that blind love can kill.
And that a man who refuses cooked food sometimes hides a hunger for something much darker.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher do not assume responsibility for the accuracy of events or for how characters are portrayed and are not liable for any misinterpretations. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed belong to the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
